iest in his life; and on the fourth, before sunset,
the two women set out, in hospital doolies, on their primitive journey
to Sheik Budeen.

Honor had protested, almost to tears, at being compelled to spend a
fortnight with her heart in two places, and her body in a third! But
Desmond, reinforced by John Meredith, had held his own; promising to
escort her to the barren Rock of Refuge, whose only virtue was its
elevation; and, by arranging a relay of ponies along the route, gallop
back in time for 'orderly room' next morning. "Which is more than nine
husbands out of ten would do for a headstrong wife!" Meredith had
concluded, stroking her flushed cheek: and thus the matter had been
settled.

Lenox and Quita spent the last afternoon together in their own
bungalow, at her suggestion. The officious chowkidar unearthed two
punkah coolies for the occasion: and the planning of their future home,
a picnic tea served on Eldred's writing-table, and practical
considerations in respect of furniture and house linen--though Quita
had small inherent regard for either!--helped, more or less, to obscure
the thought of separation. Before leaving the bungalow, she won
through the dreaded last injunctions and kisses without ignominious
collapse, since Lenox was to ride out for a few miles beside the
doolie; and they parted finally with brave words, and a prolonged
hand-clasp that left her fingers tingling for a good five minutes
afterwards.

Quita never forgot that journey. Its weird fascination, clashing with
the ache of parting, stamped every detail indelibly upon her
memory;--the vast, featureless plain, empty as a widow's heart; the
lavish moonlight poured out upon it like water, flowing unhindered to
the naked spurs of the frontier hills, whose huge shoulders, peaks, and
escarpments blotted out the stars along the western horizon; the
occasional appearance of wild-looking Waziri militia-men, from the
chain of outposts along the foothills, who had been warned to keep up a
sharp look-out along the road: no villages; no trees; no sound or
movement anywhere, save the distorted shadows and rythmical grunting of
her doolie-bearers, the soft shuffling of their feet, and the click of
hoofs, as Desmond rode at a foot's pace beside his wife, or
dismounting, walked and talked with her, his bridle slung over his arm.

The suggestion of tenderness and companionship in their low tones
seemed to accentuate the lifeless desolation through w